


A Knife shaped like [justice]

by kabrox18



Category: Destiny (Video Game), Diablo (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, gunna be long, hang on to your butts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-10-15 22:44:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10558940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kabrox18/pseuds/kabrox18
Summary: I thank you for the gift of your failure, Kingly brother. The sword logic demands a pinnacle.





	1. Pillar

**Author's Note:**

> *rubs hands together* ohohoh i'm excited for you guys to see this. Might be slow to update after i get everything already written posted, but we'll see.  
> May change the title later on. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Imperius stalks forward, ragged and patience thinned by  _ hours _ of live combat. His fireteam is trailing behind him, just as worn out as he is. They all head to the Vanguard’s hall for a report; Zavala seems shocked initially, quickly getting the others’ attention.

“Fireteam Angiris! What happened?!” Imperius steps aside mutely, allowing the team’s true leader to step forward; he’d just automatically taken the helm seeing as he was the biggest and best for taking the brunt of things. It was the same thing that he’d done for the entirety of their raid on the Dreadnaught. Malthael, who was missing a gauntlet--had been for nearly half the mission--stepped forward, producing a shard of black so impossibly dark the very air warped around it as it rolled and kneaded itself, pulsing with sickening energies. His gauntlet’s talons glinted in the light, a barely-visible purple barrier containing the blob.

“Oryx’s disgusting heart,” he rumbled, clicking his armored fingertips against the void barrier. Ikora watched in morbid fascination, but Cayde-6 jumped to the point, tapping one hand at the long table.

“You killed Oryx?”

“We did,” replied their other warlock, Auriel, from her place leaning against their second Titan, Itherael. The mute giant just nodded quietly, shuffling their weight softly and being sure not to jostle either of the Guardians leaning on them.

“There's only five of you!” The commander exclaimed, looking up at the sound of Shaxx and Eris Morn hurrying in.

“ _ They killed Oryx?! _ ” The crucible handler boomed, the smaller members of the team jumping a bit at the sheer volume.

“We did!” Tyrael said, dropping his hood and pulling off his helmet. “Cayde, by the Traveller! We brought justice to that sickening worm!” He slams a hand on the table and laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth. Ikora holds a hand up, silencing the room.

“Something is on your leader’s mind. Something… I can't explain.” She looked to the slim warlock expectantly, but he merely tips his head, more interested in the shuddering way the glob in his hand moves.

“The heart of the black garden,” he says slowly, “it feels the same as this. I touched the Garden’s Heart.” Everyone looks to him, the way he moves it up to his face, looking it over with more interest. “I can touch this, as well. Corruption is an impossibility.” With that, he does; fingers slipping through the bubble and stroking along the heart, which crunches into a point of black so taut they all feel space distort. He pulls his hand out, looking to his fingers--they are seemingly stained with ink, an odd smoky substance wafting off.

“I trust you, and I want you to study it more. Take it to someplace it can be preserved--the Black Garden is a good place. Just ensure the Vex do not interrupt your studies.” Ikora says, leaning closer slightly. He nods, pushing the object into his subspace-transmat storage.

“I'll be going, then,” he says, turning on his heel and walking off, ghost moving him out of reality before their eyes.

\------

Months have passed, and Angiris has set up a slapdash home in the Garden, defenses set up and shifts in place. Auriel and Itherael are resting, nestled in the small hole they covered over with the odd fabric they could find. The rest of the team is awake, Tyrael and Imperius having taken watch--both are more interested in Malthael and his work. “He's become obsessed,” Tyrael says softly, from his perch beside Imperius on some indiscernible Vex construction.

“He has,” the titan agrees, watching the way the warlock digs his claws into the heart, observing the way it writhes in his grasp and writing out notes in a heavy book. The black, oily heart of the Garden shutters past their eyes for the briefest of instances, and Tyrael scowls, blue face pulled into an angry expression.

“I need to put a stop to this  _ tampering. _ It has been nothing but a bad decision.” With that, he pounced down from his perch, unaffected when Imperius tries to snatch him from the air. They’re too late though, and the very time flowing around them twists, coiling in on itself and withering as Malthael disappears from their world.

“Brother!” The hunter howls, searching the ground where he stood, turning back at Imperius with guilt in the set of his shoulders.

“He's gone.” The titan murmurs, leaping from his perch and touching down neatly.

“We must tell the Vanguard,” the hunter says, leaving no room for argument.

\------

_ I have studied the Heart of Oryx. There are sounds--audial hallucinations much like those of the Ahamkara. I have to wonder if they are connected. It  _ speaks _ to me. It tells of things… I do not yet understand. I feel I will in due time. _

\------

“He was in the Black Garden when he vanished?” Ikora Rey looks apprehensive that she may have unintentionally doomed one of her own.

“Yes. We still don't know if he did on purpose or not.” Tyrael grips his cloak, fingering the stitching along the edge in anxiety.

“Well in the meantime, we have work. It could potentially lead to him.” Zavala butts in, leaning over the table and looking directly to Imperius.

“Of course.” A curt, tired nod from the older titan. His scarred face betrays nothing, the blue-grey softened only slightly in the warm daylight. Cayde watches him, scrawling something in a notebook. Itherael steps in, outer Titan armor off--it's still bizarre seeing a fallen walk about the Tower with such ease. Cayde’s eyes dart up, the blue searching the covered face for hints of their intentions. They look to him as well, head swiveling neatly to fix on him. He seems unnerved, and looks back to his book.

“I may know where he went,” the hunter mutters after a moment, “although  _ when _ may be a better term in this situation.” The others all look to him and he pushes the various knicknacks off his map, pointing to a spot on Mars. “Here, we found a gateway into the Garden, since it was reconnected to our timeline.”

“Yes. Do you think he used this gateway in some way?” Rey asks, leaning closer and resting on her palms.

“It's possible he just went back to when it was still disconnected. Oryx  _ did _ take a buncha Vex--it'd make sense for his heart to store at least some of the information.”

“Perhaps he knew I was trying to halt his studies,” Tyrael says, looking to the spot on the map sadly. Imperius touches his shoulder reassuringly, but stays silent.

“Maybe. But you can't take all the blame. Right now, you all need to focus on finding him and getting him back home.” Ikora says, looking to him sternly. The hunter Vanguard is quiet, eyes shuttering twice as he looks between the three soldiers.

“Auriel is on a mission. It will just be the three of us.” Tyrael says, trying to force himself into thinking about their new mission.

“Easy,” Itherael trills, upper pair of arms folding; they look to Ikora, seeming satisfied.

“Alright big shot. Get moving. Report in when you get there.” Cayde knocks twice at the table, straightening and giving Tyrael a nod.

\------

_ I have found why I hear things from the Heart. In killing Oryx, we toppled a pillar in our universe--one that must be replaced with haste. His power gravitates to those who slaughtered him; those who ended his reign of terror are to take the mantle of King. _


	2. Disillusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Praedyth's door. The Reef. The Dreadnaught.  
> Familiar locales, _yeees?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:3c

The rocks and walls are all the same drab grey, but Tyrael leads them to a slightly domed circle of bronze as if magnetized to it. “Praedyth’s door,” comments Itherael, “my people only hear whispers from yours about these matters. What happened here is… vague rumor.” They rattle out a breath, ether wisping from the rebreather.

“What happened here is unreal,” Tyrael replies, hand on the grip of his knife. He is unsatisfied with how their search is going.

No sign of Malthael--without their leader, there’s been a dramatic shock of a power shift in their team. Imperius has taken over, growing harsh and irritable; Tyrael and Auriel have taken up the slack to their best ability.

“Unreal? I do not understand. This is a Vex construct, yes? What they will becomes real.”

“Yes. But Praedyth did not have an anchor, as we do. He was lost in the rivers of time and space. Without his reality aligning with ours, he faded out of our collective memory. His legend is there, but not real in our timeline.”

“I see him.” The fallen chattered, head tipping this way and that. “He speaks to me. Says we are to keep Kabr safe.”

“Kabr is dead,” Imperius snaps, hands going tight over his rifle. He’s been on edge since they arrived at the door.

“Other-when,” the alien explains, waving slightly. “I see along the threads of  _ when.  _ I see a thousand-million possibilities. Branches off the tree of  _ now. _ ”

“So you see in possibilities? In odds, numbers?” The hunter says, cutting the titan off.

“Yes. I see that Kell Malthael was here. Just in a different when.”

“Then we need to find a way to line up our when and where with his. We need to bring him back,” Tyrael growls staunchly, shooting a dirty look toward Imperius. The larger Guardian says nothing, but the tension is still there.

It cannot be solved with silence.

\------

_ I see shapes. A million shapes, impossible and real and beautiful. I write these shapes, speak my will to them--they obey. I have rewritten the very fabric of reality; it is a strange knowledge to have. I see the shapes of Guardians, my fellow-light bearers, wandering those darkest of places. I hear them speak of me. I do not want to be found. _

\------

“The queen would thank you for your services,” the soldier says, giving a nod to the weary Guardians. Tyrael nods in thanks, turning to Auriel at his side. Itherael seems disgruntled by the comment, shooting a suspicious look to the awoken before treading lightly over to the covered, messy hut in the corner of the large platform.

“Variks,” he calls, guttural and familiar. The other comes out, adjusting the way his ether mask sits against his face. Immediately, the elder seems relaxed, hand dropping from his shock pistol as he bobs his head conversationally.

“Ahh, brother Itheris. You are well?”

“Well enough,” comes the gurgle, the two coming closer.

“You have taken to your Light-name well. Is it easy to hear?”

“Yes, and easy to speak. The end-- _ ay-ell _ \-- is pleasant like the taste of ether.”

“The only change to it,” the elder comments, clucking softly and leaning on his staff. He watches the way Itherael’s hands stutter in the air, touching the House Judgement emblem emblazoned over his armor.

“I have seen more possibilities,” the soldier says, changing the topic in avoidance of Variks’s comment.

“Seen more? Come, tell me your thoughts, child.” The elder leans closer, eyes wide and interested.

“I see  _ him.  _ He is consumed with obsession for the Heart. A thousand of five-thousand branches see him remaining the way he is, outside our grasp yet benevolent. Another thousand says we catch him. Half of that--he's hostile.”

“I see,” Variks said, nodding sagely. “And the last three-thousand?” He tips his head, tapping at his staff with his metal fingers in agitation.

“He comes back with force and rips everything to shambles.” Itherael waves, gesturing to the air.

“That cannot happen!” Variks yowls, slamming his staff on the sheet metal with a resounding  _ clang. _

“I agree,” Itherael hisses, ether coming in warm little pants now. Both are swept up in Eliksni fervor--they do not see the way they are observed outside their sphere of reality.

\------

_ I have begun to learn my power, my place in holding up Reality. I can move without effort where I please--carve worlds at whim--I am impossible to catch, to see. _

_ I will return, soon. The Heart whispers to me, soft as song and just as lovely. It speaks of the darkness rife in even the places of Light; I see now, our tentative allyship with the Fallen scum was all lies. Even the Vanguard knows this, and yet, they too, lie. I will end humanity and the fallen, wipe these liars and fools away--the Traveller will be free to start anew, as it should have been. _

\------

Even the highest Wizards and Knights look at me with fear.

I ignore them, all of them.

This dead husk of chitin and dust--is mine. I have ripped one of the creatures from his post, slew him; none react with anything but terror. They do not understand--their feeble minds cannot  _ comprehend _ why I am here, why I stink of power. I have claimed a wasteland without any sort of understanding besides  _ survival.  _ The tiniest of beings, ones I once knew with nothing but hate, now act as the mouth of a river that feeds into a stream, and to a monster. This river fuels me, like nothing I have ever felt.

I have knitted more pure, more  _ whole _ armor from the black hide of a world, a hood and robes befitting of my position. I hide myself behind them--the way my face has marred, flesh growing over steel--disgusts me. It is unnatural.

I have bloomed again, just as I had when I first roused from the dead. Now I know of the melody that brings that bloom to an end, however bitter it may be. I am dead-alive- _ death, _ and my every breath is filtered between ragged teeth and a starving throat, which hungers so sweetly for the life of millions. 

Slaying incompetent knights is not enough. I must find and kill something else.

Something  _alive._


	3. the Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is probably gunna be good for the diablo folks who don't know destiny. explains some of the silliness re: the hive, and also introduces some proper Taken!  
> Hope you guys all like it :3

Eris Morn is wailing, clutching her head. Her stone--suspended in energy--is dropped to the ground,  _ singing _ in some unholy note. Everyone is in agony, seeing and hearing some _ when _ else.

“ _ Beings of Light. You have deceived for too long. _ ” The voice is painfully familiar, and Imperius calls out to his brother.

“Malthael! Come home to us!”

“ _ I am working.  _ Home _ is where my work is. _ ” The reply is so achingly familiar that the titan cries for the first time in many years. Even Itherael is broken, trapped behind too many possibilities and indecision. The idea is given that Tyrael take the Heart, ripping away the source of corruption to save and restore the warlock.

He leaves within minutes of the suggestion.

\------

The Dreadnaught is plagued with the rotting stench of fear. Tyrael, bound by duty and love, turns on his heaviest helmet filters and soldiers on anyway. The Hive put up little resistance, the Taken not yet appearing; Malthael is likely still trying to grasp his leadership over so many. It tips everything in the hunter’s favor, and he rushes to the King’s hall. Waterfalls ooze backwards, crawling up the air and swirling in a shallow basin. As he walks through the narrow hall, more pools alight by eerie blue lamps that have no anchor or base. They flicker and go out as he gets close, leading him onward. He’s finally in a large room, quickly being joined by a few other Guardians he doesn't know.

“Heart is this way,” his ghost says, pulling them into another chamber, this one rendered in glittering, bronzed relief. A walkway stretches from them to a pedestal, on top of which the Heart rests, pulsing and ebbing gently.

“There. We must contain it.” The group hurried close, Tyrael placing the titan and two warlocks on defensive duty. The other hunter helps him to contain the Heart, the group moving back out with almost no issue. Before the Hive can halt them they’re back in their ships, rushing out to Saturn’s orbit.

\------

_ THEY HAVE TAKEN MY HEART. _

_ I feel it bleed in Tyrael’s hand. His Light is strong, but it does not matter--I will end him! _

_ The truth of the Hive is thus: if I kill you, I am stronger, and I consume you. If you kill me, you are stronger, and you consume me. Tyrael circumvents this, goes around the killing and plucks at my power. He cannot hope to contain it forever. I will end him and his disillusion, reclaim his power and my Heart. _

\------

The canister, lined with a number of seemingly paracausal materials stolen from Vex and Cabal alike, sets firmly into the clamps.

“You have done well,” Tyrael comments, giving a nod. The casing would protect the Heart from any further tampering, on top of hiding it from known sensors. This plan cannot fail, and he holds confidence that it will be kept safely from his twisted kin’s clutches. 

The Vanguard posts six strong guards, enough to slay anything that may find itself in the chamber. A constant stream of reports is kept up, both for security’s sake as well as the team’s sanity. The first day, there's only minor problems--a stray dreg, lost from its crew, and a wandering vandal accompanied by three dreg that fall in, dropping unceremoniously into the cold shadow of the room. The vandal howls and the four fallen assault the guardians, one dreg managing to skitter off with some injuries.

The next day they are not so lucky. Three crews of fallen assault the room, and it takes all six to rid the chamber of the creatures. By the time they get to the last straggler--a captain--Malthael shows his newfound ability, ripping the alien out of reality and into a blight. Tyrael is on the comms immediately.

“Guardians! What was that?”

“Your  _ friend _ just took a Captain, Tyrael,” a warlock growls, solar light flaring over her hands. “Now this is going to just get worse. We’ll need another team.”

“Already on it. They’ll watch the entrances and patrol the main chamber from afar.” Comms cut, and they're left with the stifling knowledge they now bear.

\------

The wizard cries out, gesturing a plead for forgiveness. Their king is a monster now, more than he ever was before. He has read, learning the intimacies of whatever he can think of. Now he hungers, slaying incompetents and arranging the vast armies of the hive for a sweet feast of Light. She cries out again as he bears down on her, cutting her robes and body mercilessly. She collapses shortly after and he feeds off her, clutching the energy to himself and coiling newfound appendages round his shoulders. Broad, skeletal wings, made of what looks like off-white smoke. He shudders at the rush of energy, and hums to himself, peeling out of one reality and building himself into the next. Thousands of Hive cluster here, some with their own realities, others only strong enough to walk and kill. The tithe is growing again, flowing strong to him. He feels  _ alive _ in a way he never has, twisted body welcoming the power like a starving man welcoming food.

“Tonight, we kill the Guardians and retrieve my heart,” he says, looking to a proud knight from under his hood. The knight nods, fangs bared in a permanent grin. “Of course, sir. We shall not fail.”

“No, of course not. If you fail your story will end, your reality fed upon by mine.” He looks down over the armies, shrieking legions of undead.

\------

They _ failed. _ Swarms of thrall, only seeking for light with cries of eagerness, are cut down like wheat. Wizards are shot down from their perches in the air, their screams echoing through the chamber. Knights, bellowing and eager, are ripped down just as easily as their Acolyte compatriots. Taken arrive after the Guardians eliminate the last toddling thrall, blooming from the ground in elegant lines of black. These Taken are  _ different, _ to put it lightly--they flow where Oryx’s would have stuttered. They flit in and out of battle, singing haunting, deep notes that harmonize together, weaving into a song worthy of golden-age horror films. They all go down, eventually, but the two teams are shaken to the core. Tyrael comes in a rush of light and transmat glitter; his presence is eagerly welcomed by the twelve.

“Come now. Keep your defenses up,” he warns, turning. “You should all…” He trails off, turning at the scrape of metal on stone and the cold whisper of something horrible. A disturbing sight meets him, and he can only utter the name of the thing in shock.

“Malthael.” There's a tingling up his spine as the once-noble being grins, face cracking as he bares disgusting, impossibly sharp teeth. His arms come up, crossed like a corpse’s, and two Guardians beside him stare as he cocks his head.

“ _ So. You do remember me. How  _ endearing.” The hollowed, breathy rasp makes Tyrael feel sick, and he wrinkles his soft grey-blue nose at the taste of rising bile in his throat. He gasped openly as the other unfolds his arms, fluidly killing the two Guardians on either side of him before moving higher into the air, sprawling threads of silver flowing out. The thick fog permeating the chamber shudders, before flattening to the bridge, bizarre winds kicking up tiny eddies. A pair of wizards drop out of a screaming tear in reality, humming eagerly as they flit about.

“I define you,” one titters, “as unworthy. You have not killed enough.” With that, her claws rip open a Titan.

“You too, are unworthy. Your blade is not honed enough.” The other sends a Hunter careening off to their death. This continues--only one Guardian escapes, but Tyrael stays--watches the Wizards. They cackle and fly toward him; he ends one with a black rifle ripped from the ending of a Taken Captain. The other shrieks and flits back, beginning the opening cry of her deathsong. The Guardian takes aim and ends the song with three trigger pulls. 

Malthael just laughs from behind him; the wizards had served their purpose. Tyrael whips around at the disturbing sound, shocked as his twisted brother grips the container, cracking it in two with seemingly no effort.

“ _ All that time protecting and crafting this fancy box… all gone to waste. What a shame. Too bad you will have no second chance,  _ brother.  _ No one can stop me, now. _ ” With that, Malthael escaped, ripping open the very fabric of space before Tyrael’s eyes and slipping through. He roared in anger and defeat, crashing to his knees. Why had this happened? Was this destiny?


	4. Consumed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for dumb mistakes i'm running a one man operation with this  
> updates _will_ slow down after this, possibly to once a week or so. My apologies, but I wanna make sure what I put out is quality, yanno?

“You were unable to stop him,” Imperius growled, helmet cocking toward Tyrael. His broad shoulders were taut, and his tone spoke of annoyance. There was an undercurrent there, one of _hostility._

The fireteam had drifted apart in the uncomfortably short weeks following Malthael’s capture of Oryx’s heart. Itherael and Auriel split off, occasionally bringing along a hunter who went by ‘Inarius’. Auriel had carefully mentioned he and Tyrael were quite alike, and the Awoken hunter had simply pressed on a faux smile and nodded. He knew he was being replaced.

Imperius had gained massive respect, both for taking down Oryx, and his recent actions in the Crucible. As such, he had gained not just an intra-fireteam promotion, but a very real one amongst the other Guardians. He now held power growing close to that of his idols.

“Of course I was,” The hunter muttered, pulling himself out of his introspection.

“The Fireteam survived?” Zavala asked, coming up beside Imperius. This was a general meeting hall, but the Titan vanguard liked to check in on his more illustrious students.

“Yes, I managed to resurrect them. I wouldn’t have let myself leave if they hadn’t been able to as well,” Tyrael replied, fingers curling into fists that rested palm-down on the long table the three of them had encircled. The Commander simply nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. His golden eyes flicked to Imperius, who reached up, pulling his helmet off and setting it to the table roughly. The Exo couldn’t express himself in the same ways a human could, but _damn_ if he didn’t look pissed. Normally amber eyes blazed a hateful red, and he leaned closer, staring the Hunter down.

“You failed to stop him. The only good thing that came out of this was no loss. How can I trust that you won’t fail again? Your success rate was never good, Tyrael, but now? You should consider retiring. Nobody has any use for a Guardian that can’t _protect_ anything.” The venom in his voice doesn’t bring Tyrael to react. His eyes have gone dull since the mission in question, mostly lacking in their natural glow. He just sighs.

“I’ll scout for you. If I die in the wilds, all you’ve lost is a scout who can’t save anything.” Zavala opens his mouth to comment, and maybe try to patch things up, but the Hunter has already turned, walking out.

Imperius says nothing.

\------

Venus is… nice. The plants don’t talk down to him, and the Fallen learn to leave well enough alone. The Vex, mindless as they seem, avoid him as well. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t actually _do_ anything. He doesn’t often leave his trashy, bang-up little hiding spot in the Cinders, so they never bother with him since he’s no threat.

Tyrael’s Ghost, true to its nature, left him. It has returned to the Tower and has resigned itself to finding another Guardian. He finds he doesn’t care. He has his little radio, and sometimes Auriel calls him to just say hello. He doesn’t reply, too afraid to hurt her with his bitter words.

It’s months into his residence on the humid planet, and Taken begin to return. First, it’s just the Vex, a few goblins treading around in cloaks of impossible black and negative starlight. Hobgoblins, too, start to appear more often as Taken and not as themselves.

He steps out of his little man-made cavern and looks around--he swore he could hear the hissing song of a Taken sludge puddle. A pool of ammonia burbles, a geyser whistling sulfur and water vapor before settling to bubbling again. He treads through it, field plate keeping his legs a healthy temperature despite the boiling liquid. He continues to walk, closer and closer to that ethereal _ringing._

There, nestled in the crook between two rocks.

A pool of velvety, black impossibility, anti-stars pulsing and jerking in it just as the pools had with Oryx’s control. Maybe it was all the same, unlike the Taken themselves. Bits of Fallen trash hovered and drifted above it, the ring of silver circling it glowing brighter than the murky sodium-vapor lights around him.

Warlocks had always spoken in hushed tones about how being Taken worked. A few--high ones, Hidden ones--had discovered the Deep eats you. Swallows you, and while in you sit in its gut it gives you _purpose._ It doesn’t matter what or who you were, what you did, anything; it overwrote that. Once you were cut down to simple likes and dislikes, given a purpose to suit you and the situation, it spat you back out. You were Taken.

Tyrael looks down, staring into the shuddery, living sludge.

“Purpose,” he mutters aloud, “that’d be nice.” He steps closer. Could a Guardian be Taken? He had no Ghost, and his Light had dulled to the point where only his fading will to live kept him going. Maybe being Taken would work because of that?

He shook his head; it’d give him purpose. Something to do.

Even for Hunters, those unmovable folk who could seemingly do nothing forever, it sounded nice to be doing _something._

He stepped into the pool.

\------

_What did you do, in your past life? Did you call and fire bolts of antimatter? Wield a blade of crackling electric power? Heft a gun of raw sunlight?_

None of those, the lightbearer replies. I relied not on my light, but on firearms and the sturdy metal of a knife.

_What do you want?_

A sense of purpose. I need something to give back my fighting spirit. I am no more alive than before my Ghost found me, now. My brothers have turned on me.

[There is agony in the voice.]

_You know the blade like you know your own limbs. You fought for intangible respect, but no more. This respect has failed you. You seek reparation, you seek a new family, the wolf seeks a new pack._

_There is a knife. It is shaped like [justice]. Take it up, cut yourself with it. Remove the unnecessary. Become whole again; take your true shape._

\------

Tyrael felt fuzzy.

Everything felt distant, but one thing he knew was that he’d never been happier in all his life. He felt _free._

His body had changed, that much he could tell. He recognized being on Venus, still, and slowly he was coming back to his senses. He strode through a field, feeling as if he could do as he pleased here. Vex machines turned their ruddy eyes to him, and he called forth a blade. It was familiar, the weight and length like an extension of his arm as he darted about, cleaving the robots into scrap. It was less _darting_ and more sliding along the ground in sharp movements.

He stopped near a standing pool of water, booted feet halting at the rim. He bent to look at his reflection, seeing a hood hiding a shadow. His armor had twisted up, growing to fit a much larger body and becoming _elegant,_ in some way. His hands were massive--they could crush a Fallen Dreg without effort, easily. He shone and moved like raw mercury, and his new-yet-familiar blade glinted and smoked with Taken energies.

He stood from his half-kneel next to the water, the blade fizzling out of reality like so much ash as he looked over one shoulder. He was met by long, flowing, _shuddering_ tendrils of energy, glowing in that familiar negative starlight.

A Fallen crew draws his attention, and he doesn’t even bother with the sword. He just splays out those long filaments, giving them a flick and hurling himself into the air at high speed. He blinks in and out of reality, reaching the crew in seconds.

A dreg screams an alarm, and the others all turn. A vandal howls a challenge, but ducks, sidestepping Tyrael’s large fist. One of the anti-light tendrils snaps forward though, coiling around the alien and throwing it with sudden, whiplash force into a nearby wall of stone. He grins savagely under his hood at the splatter and hiss of ether, and he turns his haunting gaze to the other Fallen. The crew’s captain howls and rallies his fellow pirates, firing with near-desperation with his shrapnel launcher at the Taken monster.

Tyrael wants to crush the bothersome Fallen, but feels a pulling in his chest. His joy only increases--he knows that pull, somehow. It means he will be rewarded.


	5. Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inarius is a 'good' teammate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a couple days late, but i've been incredibly busy. not sure if the next chap's going to be a week from now, or later. :/

Malthael frowns at this new Taken signature. He didn’t remember pulling anything into the Deep. He waved a hand to summon this new being, a wad of oily blight peeling itself into the room and dropping what looked like a human knight during medieval times--at least, if he ignored the unusually shaped shoulder plates. Connected to these odd fans of spikes were long, spaghetti-noodle like tendrils, glittering with blue-white anti-light. They flicked softly as the thing kneeled before him, bowing a hooded head.

“Who are you?” He demands. “I did not Take you.”

“I am Tyrael. The Deep called to me. It  _ freed  _ me.” The seemingly empty hood tips up to him and he growls at the name. He turned to face the new Taken and steps closer.

“Stand, Tyrael.” He watched as the other does so, white and grey flickering and ebbing over that curious armor as Tyrael gives a strange shudder of delight. “Are you loyal to me?”

“Yes. You did not Take me, but I know only happiness in seeing you. I will follow you until I am destroyed.” Malthael took a moment to process this, slender arms folded as he watched this quivering, strange Taken. This was his old teammate; perhaps there was something to have this being do that was befitting of his once-noble position.

“First, I will test you. You must prove to me that you are worthy of following the Second Navigator. Prove yourself to me, Tyrael, and you will earn your rank.”

“Oh my King, what is my test?” Tyrael sounds near  _ laughing _ in delight. He is excited to kill.

“End the light of a Guardian. Bring the light to me in your preferred form, and you will have proven yourself.” A nod, and Tyrael stands, bowing deeply.

“I will carry out your wishes with joy in my heart, my King.” With that, he backed into a frayed hole in reality, moving to Luna.

\------

“ _ The Taken here are  _ definitely  _ Malthael’s, _ ” the ships’ radios crackle, “ _ they’re too quick, too clever, to be Oryx’s. However, this means there’s different rules. There’s been reports--disturbing ones--of a new big Taken signature. We don’t know what it is, but it’s better to kill it and just not have to deal with it in the long run. That’s where you guys come in. Eliminate this thing, and see to it that Malthael doesn’t reaffix the Hive’s grip on the Moon.” _ The trio of Guardians transmats onto the bleached-grey, rocky surface; a team of a titan, hunter, and warlock. 

“Got it, Shiro. So where are we heading?” The hunter asks, looking over his shoulder to the Eliksni titan who stands proud beside the warlock.

“ _ The intel I’ve got here says it’s in an unknown area. Possibly a new dig site for the Hive. Head into the Hellmouth--from there, Eris Morn can give your Ghosts telemetry markers. Oh--and another thing--keep an eye out for any straggling Splicers. _ ”

“Got it. So, Inarius, now’s your time to shine.” The warlock seems pleased as she drops her hand from her comm to her rifle, and turns to start walking. The titan follows, leaning to speak privately with the warlock.

Inarius grins-- _ so what _ if Itherael didn’t like him? He’d gotten a new fireteam out of the deal, and had the honor of going on a strike mission with them. He was eager to prove himself, and like Auriel had said, now was his time to shine.

\------

Inarius finished mopping up the last few shrieking Hive with an incendiary grenade and a handful of revolver shots. Itherael said nothing from their sniper’s perch, but Auriel tread over, patting him on the shoulder.

“You’re pretty good at this Guardian thing,” she commented, amusement coloring her tone. Inarius just gave a self-satisfied little grunt, stuffing the old pistol into its holster.

“A’course. Only been practicing for two years now.” Itherael growled over the comms, catching both of their attention.

“Do not gloat,  _ awoken. _ ”

“Ith, be nice. I know you’re still sore over both Tyrael and Malthael, but Inarius is already proving to be reliable.”

“It does not matter. I… do not trust him.” The titan joined them, glowing eyes glaring to Inarius. The hunter just shrugs.

“Big talk coming from a damned spider.” Auriel looked to Inarius, and shook her head subtly. Now was no time for infighting.

“You really think you’re better? Just because you came from someplace you can’t even remember?” The warlock stepped between them, pushing them away from each other.

“ _ That’s _ enough of that. We still have a job to do, remember? This Taken threat isn’t just going to lay down and die.”

“Fine,” Itherael growls, a rattling noise coming from the depths of their throat.

\------

They come into the new caverns, the walls still bare of the inscrutable life forms that followed the Hive down into their tunnels.

“Huh, no barnacles,” Inarius commented, hands wrapped firmly around his revolver. Auriel looks up and around, glossy visor glinting in the dull blueish light.

“Is that what you call them?” She asks, walking down a ramp of stone. Inarius trots a bit down the steep incline, and looks to her.

“Yeah. I don’t think there’s an actual name for ‘em, is there?”

“...No,” she replied, casting a glance over her shoulder to check that Itherael was still behind them. The fallen--no,  _ eliksni, _ she mentally reminded herself, was still trailing closely.

Rather suddenly, a greasy sensation overtook the dry, stale air. The quiet banter went silent, and the three of them slowed to a stop.

“Taken,” Itherael gurgled plainly. They lifted their wire rifle, bringing the other two to do much the same. A blight arose, and they were met with a sight out of a nightmare. That glittering, layered armor was different, of course, but still akin to the original set imprinted on Itherael and Auriel’s memory.

“Tyrael,” Auriel nearly whimpered, nearly dropping her scout rifle at the sight.

“Lightbearer… give me your power…” The Taken monster groaned, lurching forward and calling a blade of raw darkness.

“We can’t hurt him,” Itherael snapped, and Inarius just laughed.

“Have fun with that.” With that, he chucks his throwing knife at the glowing glob of negative light covering the ex-Guardian’s face.


	6. Captured

The knife juts from the slimy, blight-covered wall. It shifts with the shifting, liquid darkness, barely a meter from the Taken monster’s head. Tyrael laughs, softly--the kind that would grace them after a long mission--and Auriel has to drop behind a barricade to stop from exposing herself. Inarius swears, not exactly under his breath, and presses his shoulders back to a pillar of lunar stone. He stares, adrenaline roaring in his veins at the sight of that sword landing blade-first above him, _through_ the pillar.

“Move, Inarius!” Auriel calls, poking her head out to see him.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” he snaps, and sprints as fast as his legs will carry him, taking a leap of faith over a yawning chasm. He jumps midair, and then again, crossing the massive chamber in seconds.

He turns, and is face to face with the last thing he wanted to see. Tyrael stands there, uncomfortably close, invading his personal space and then some. He didn’t even get a chance to breathe before instinct pushed him aside, ducking out of the way of a crushing fist eager to meet him. Itherael snarled something in shrieking, hissing Eliksni tongue, putting three wire rifle shots into the back of the ex-Guardian.

“Stop that…” He mutters, turning and trudging close. His sword nearly drags on the ground, and it seems like he’s slogging through tar instead of just walking. He lifts himself, and with what looks like massive effort, throws his sword. He flicks his arm out, and it races to Itherael like an arrow. The titan leaps into the air, hitting the ground with a grunt and dropping flat. As if tethered to him, Tyrael rips the sword free of its place embedded in the wall, bringing it straight back and nearly cleaving Auriel in two. She screams--a high, cracking wail--as her robes are sliced, the blade coming dangerously close to her flesh. Inarius growled and summoned his golden gun out, flicking his wrist to call it. Of course there was that sick pulling in his gut of using the power in such a stiflingly dark area like this, but he set the butt of the glowing revolver in his palm anyway.

“Hey!” He called, bringing the Taken being to turn around and face him. He lined the iron sights with the glowing white bulb on Tyrael’s face, and pulled the trigger twice. It sent him reeling, yet still the third shot landed perfectly.

“ _Inarius, NO!_ ” Auriel screamed, watching the way the solar bolts pierced through her friend. She ran to him, ignoring the shouts from her teammates. Tyrael was stumbling, bracing his weight on a nearby pile of rocks and his sword, which flickered ominously.

That hood turned to her, and she skidded to a stop, frozen in her tracks by the sickening _grin_ that was faintly visible behind the signature Taken ‘eye’. Teeth, long conical things, curved down like rods of obsidian from dark skeletal jaws, worn into angled points. Thin lips that didn’t look like they’d even cover the teeth peeled back, exposing shiny black gums. She took two steps back, but wasn’t fast enough to escape the long tendril of negative starlight that snapped forward, wrapping around her and _hurling_ her across the room, into Itherael.

Tyrael laughed, heartier now, and turned to Inarius, who was hiding, gripping his revolver tight enough that his knuckles were surely blue-white. The ex-Guardian tread closer, not even going around the rock. Instead, he slipped his large wings around the boulder, coming from almost all angles. The hunter yelped at the sight of the first one that entered his field of view, and tried to lunge away. He was halted by the tendrils jerking forward, catching him and tying his limbs in painful anti-light.They ratcheted tighter with his every movement, and the Taken abomination slunk away with him, opening a shining, uncanny hole in the very air and stepping through.

\------

He had gone unconscious at least thrice. He’d awake, revived by a flare of light from his ghost or a jolt of pain, and shake in his binds before going back under.

The third time he awoke, he was met by that disgusting face.

It looked like a human, or awoken, flayed down to the bone and twisted with that sickening Hive grin. The single, painfully white eye object threw it into sharp detail, and Inarius nearly gagged at the _smell._ That was when he realized he was missing his helmet, and then the rest of his armor shortly after. He curled his lip, leaning away from the uncomfortably close face.

“Good morning, _sunshine,_ ” Tyrael mocked, dragging one armored finger along Inarius’s jaw, forcing him to look at him.

“Get away from me,” the hunter snapped, making an attempt to test his bindings.

They were still Tyrael’s wings, and they pulled his limbs out tighter to his displeasure. He stilled after only a single tug, and took a slow breath to ease his churning gut.

“Having an issue, are we?” Tyrael cooed, moving his surprisingly warm fingertip down the Awoken’s exposed front. It stopped to trace around his stomach, circling his navel.

“What do you _want?_ ” Inarius blurted out, and Tyrael just chuckled softly, pulling his bound prey closer.

“I want your light. I will _have it._ I’m going to rip it from you, peel your very _soul_ open like a ripe fruit to get at it. Then, when you are drained and but a husk, i will bring your sweet light to my King. Perhaps he will grace you with Taking.” Inarius kept his gaze steady, and put on a winning smile. If Tyrael was confused, he didn’t show it.

“Well then. May as well get it done with, yes?”

“No.” Inarius kept up the smile, but didn’t bother to try and stop the fear welling up cold in his chest.


	7. Removal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !!WARNING!!  
>  There's in-detail descriptions of torture. If you dont wanna read that, I suggest you skip this chapter until the line break.

Tyrael touched his back, to his displeasure. Not with his hand--rather, a long, oily tongue that dragged up along the new and old scars over his spine.

“Delicious,” the Taken monster muttered. “Your light is… so sweet, a sugary lie…” Creepy as he was, he could be poetic.

“That’s great,” Inarius rasped. He was exhausted, and his limbs ached from being bound for days. Not to mention the constant, ongoing torture. While Tyrael licked up his back like a cat, his fingers continued to pull at the tender, still-bloody edges of a ragged slice in his side. Inarius bit his lip at the sliding, sickening sensation of one of the digits sliding in, grazing all sorts of nerve endings and lighting his whole side up in agony. He let out a weak groan and slumped, shaking.

“You are growing weaker by the hour. Soon, you will feel the bite of your light being pulled from you.”

“Why does this have to be so drawn out?” He wonders how he’s still  _ awake. _ Nobody would’ve made it this long, let alone stayed awake.

“It will not work, otherwise. I want to keep you alive but separate your light from you.”

“Why though? Why keep me alive?” Tyrael pauses, pulling his fingers from the would with a disgustingly wet sound. Inarius nearly cried, but instead breathed heavily to stifle the urge.

“Why  _ not? _ Never has a Guardian been reduced to nothing like this. You always go out in blazes of glory. I simply want to see what happens.”

“You say that as if you weren’t a Guardian yourself, before you were Taken…”

“Before I was Taken is not important to me. I am perfectly happy how I am now.”

“You don’t even want to think about before you were this  _ puppet? _ ” Tyrael actually laughed at him, full on belly laughter. He seemed to think his question was  _ hysterical. _ “I was being serious!” Inarius snapped, looking awkwardly over his shoulder to glare at the twisted Guardian.

“Puppet? I am no puppet. I love what I do. It’s like this delightful game, and I’ve the luck to play.” Inarius winced at the sound of Tyrael bringing his sword back into reality. It was like a sigh, and the ethereal blade flashed into his grasp. He laid the flat of it to Inarius’s upper arm--just above the bicep. It felt horribly, icy cold, worse than anything else he’d ever experienced. His blue skin arose with gooseflesh at the sensation, but it seemed to be an illusion of cold, like peppermint.

“What are you doing to me now?” The awoken asked nervously, voice wavering and on the verge of cracking in fear.

“Well, considering what I’ve done for the past three days without stopping, it should be obvious.” He spoke as if to a child who had asked some inane question. He angled the blade, and Inarius’s breathing picked up as he stared at the way it  _ flexed. _ It looked alive, and it rattled him to his core. Blood wept from the new cut, dribbling down his arm and side. He let out a weak, broken cry of pain at the feeling. Tyrael merely chuckled and slid the weapon back, deepening the injury until Inarius swore the blade touched bone. He sobbed at the oozing gash left behind, and screamed openly, high and agonized when Tyrael stepped forward, digging his fingers into it.

“Stop, please,” he blubbered.

“This is too much fun. Your screams are like the most wonderful music… And with them, comes my opportunity to break you. To crack open your soul and pull the light out.” Tyrael turned him, making it so they faced each other. He then kneeled in front of Inarius, sword-tip planted into the dusty ground beneath them. He put his fingers to his mouth, licking the blood up.

“No, what do you want? Do you want to be un-Taken? Brought home to the City? I’ll do anything, please, I-”

“Hush, now. This won’t hurt… Not a bit.” Tyrael’s now-cleaned hand reached up to Inarius’s fluttering chest, palm coming to rest over his sternum. His touch was startlingly gentle, and his armored glove was  _ warm, _ strangely enough. It was such a relief and he leaned into it with a sort of desperation. He felt something pulling though, pulling away from him. It  _ hurt, _ it hurt so blindingly that he utterly shut down. 

Tyrael watched the shock roll over the body he held, those pretty golden eyes bugging out before gently fluttering shut. He said nothing, hoping his lie would be forgiven. He just wanted to make his King happy, of course; in gracious return of the neverending current of joy Tyrael felt.

He pulled his palm away slowly, bringing the light with it. It coalesced in his palm, quivering and  _ afraid. _ It was scared of the darkness, and Tyrael simply closed his large hand around it. It would learn in time.

He looked back up to an unconscious Inarius, sighing softly. He let his sword fizzle away, and used his now-free hand to tenderly brush the soft white hair away from the awoken’s pleasantly grey-blue face. He moved and set him gently in a nook of bone and chitin, ensuring that he would heal within the hour before opening a rift and slipping through.

\------

“You have returned. You have my request, I hope?” Malthael folded his arms behind him, turning slowly to the Taken; a new class he’d dubbed an  _ archangel. _ Tyrael merely looked up to him, offering his closed fist. His fingers slowly opened, and the wad of light splayed itself out, searching for its Guardian again. Malthael merely smirked and snatched away the globule, turning away and flicking his wings.

“Is it good enough?” Tyrael asked, softly.

“More than enough. Now leave me. You have done well.” Scraping emanates from the armor his soldier wears, before the atrium is silent.

The King purrs down to the light, cupping it in his hand before bringing it to his lips, drawing it in like a drink. He feels it twist and die in his gullet, and feels replenished for it. Now, he was stronger--perhaps strong enough to be a more  _ active _ force in this little war with the City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea where i want this to go. should all the "council" become Taken? should mal be returned home? I havent decided, so if you wanna see something, drop me a comment.


	8. Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrael and Inarius take time to talk, after their previous... negative meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit, LORE  
> i had to read like half the books of sorrows for this ;n;  
> this is very much filler, and explains more shit. next chap is going to be the start of more plot, dun worry :3

Inarius had woken up again. He felt drained, and could hardly even move his head. He felt the large scab on his arm where Tyrael had made his last cut; his mouth felt dry and his whole body screamed for food and sleep. He rolled his head slowly to one side, wincing at the sight of that same negative light he’s seen for the past half-week.

“You are awake.” It sounds... _ relieved? _ Inarius frowns inwardly, and squints over to the Taken monster.

“Why do you care?” He rasped, sounding quite awful.

“Because I didn’t want to kill you, as I said.” Ah,  _ right, _ he’d mentioned being curious.

“Forgive me for not remembering it among all the  _ torture, _ ” he spat disdainfully. Tyrael said nothing for a bit but offered what looked like a pair of water rations and a food packet. He warily takes both, his eyes fixed on Tyrael’s hand--as if it will snatch away the precious commodities if he looks away for even a second. The Taken creature does nothing, instead watching him silently. “So,” he says, almost conversationally. “You seem to be pretty… normal. Nothing at all like the mindless Taken I’ve seen before.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

“Well, for one, you can talk. And you sound… fine. Only a little warped, but nothing like the heavily garbled speech the Taken usually give out.” Inarius pauses to open a water ration, sipping it slowly as he eyes the long, gently waving appendages at Tyrael’s back. “Another thing--Malthael’s taken are different than Oryx’s. You don’t shudder or twitch or anything. You seem almost more  _ alive _ than they did.”

“... That would take much explanation.”

“Well.” Inarius sat up further, giving a soft, choking sound. “This pain is no better than that torture… By the Traveller. Why did you do this to me?”

“I was simply obeying my King. I would do anything for him.”

“Why, when he’s so evil? Surely you recognize that.” Tyrael said nothing, but his hood turned toward Inarius. 

“Let me counter-ask you something. I was a Guardian, so were you. So, tell me: would you not do anything in your power to protect the Last City? The Traveller? What about the Vanguard? Would you not do what you can to carry out their missions?” Inarius stared, and nodded slowly.

“Of course, but-”

“But nothing,” Tyrael interrupted, “my King is my Vanguard. The Dreadnaught--my City. I will do all in my new power to keep him and it safe. I only wish happiness on him, happiness in return for what he's done to me. There is no  _ dichotomy! _ Malthael is not  _ evil, _ he was pushed into this position, and even then, Oryx was not evil. He simply wanted to survive. Seeing black and white in this situation is wrong-- _ unjust. _ You will not say any more of this nonsense in my presence, or I will do  _ more  _ than remove your light.”

Inarius stared blankly at him; not only was he smarter than any of Oryx’s Taken, he was damn near smarter than the average  _ Guardian.  _  He was edging into warlock levels of knowing. It scared him, frankly, and he clutched his food ration closer to himself in some feeble effort to comfort himself.

“So… C-can I ask why Oryx killed? If it was a matter of survival, why… Do what he did?” Tyrael watched him, seeming to take a moment to calm himself from his little outburst.

“I knew only part of his story when I was a Guardian. Calcified pieces of unknown material and density told of his past--the warlocks, led by Ikora, deciphered these fragments into books that were digitally distributed to a number of terminals, one of which I managed to access before I was Taken... He started on a gas planet destined to swallow the fragments of another planet--on these fragments, the proto-hive survived, but barely. Oryx--Aurash at the time--learned of a wave caused by the alignment of the planet’s moons, one of which wasn't natural.” Inarius shifted, continuing to eat as he listened.

“The moon was artificial?”

“Yes. It brought the additional gravity required to make this wave large enough to kill the proto-hive wholly. Their teacher, Taox, killed their father and offered the unfit-to-lead Aurash and siblings to a rival kingdom. In retaliation, Aurash and her sisters escaped into the gas giant’s storms to find a way to escape the planet, thereby saving their species.”

“So was this a sort of revenge?” Tyrael chuckled a bit, wings flicking subtly.

“I'm not done telling you the story. Aurash and her sisters hated Taox for her actions--they discovered a ship in the oceans, though. It carried nothing, but they had brought some items. Aurash’s sister--I don't recall her name--had a dead worm that spoke to her. It led them to things they needed. They took the ship out and passed a leviathan in the depths that pleaded them to ignore the worm and forget what they had found in the Deep. They chose to disregard the leviathan, and flew deeper into the core of the planet, striking a bargain with the worm. Other worms came to them, and there was a number of them--these became the worm gods that the Hive worship. From there, they made a deal; they agreed to pursue perfection while continuing to hold their personalities, or else they would be consumed by the worms they allowed into their bodies.” Inarius made a face.

“The maggot-things I see on the Dreadnaught all the time…”

“Yes. So, thanks to this deal, and what they believed to be perfection, they set out to consume the “lies” of law and peace. Light, too, entered their slavering jaws and never left. The Taken are part of the results of these dealings. The King presents us with what we wish for most, and allows us to have it--we simply wish to repay him for this pure happiness we feel. It is similar to his deal with the worm burrowed in his flesh.”

“That… Explains so much. Everything… All because of these deals… And even you! I want to ask, though… What did you want? What were you given?”

“A Knife. It was… Shaped like Justice. Justice for all those who have wronged me, wronged  _ anyone. _ I crusade for this Justice for all, but my King’s will comes first and foremost. Still, I have learned in being Taken that Oryx’s warpriest was an attempt at circumventing his deals, at bringing himself peace of mind in that he was not the one killing. He wished to escape these evil dealings, and yet keep his immortality… After all, all he ever wanted was to preserve himself and his siblings.” He tilted his head, watching the way Inarius sat back, taking a moment to absorb this.

“Well… If you promise not to hurt anyone, I think I can help you find the justice you want.”


	9. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLOT  
> next chap's gunna keep this going, be split between the remainders of Fireteam Angiris and Tyrael/Inarius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THE DESTINY 2 TRAILERS CAME OUT TODAY AND THE HYPE IS REAL. if this fic is still going by September, I may very well continue this from the end of TTK allllll the way into the new game.

Inarius held the large, gauntleted hand carefully, walking across the plaza slowly. Guardians of all classes and orders were packed along a narrow path, staring at the Taken creature he pulled with him. Every single Guardian he could see was armed.

“Tyrael, we’re going to the Vanguard. We will see if we can broker talks with Malthael. Maybe we can bring him here peacefully. Even if he was granted Oryx’s power, his mannerisms are still that of a warlock.” He liked the strength of his own voice. Tyrael had nursed him back to health--as healthy as he could be now with no light and a Ghost who cannot resurrect him.

“He is clever. Not like that of Oryx’s sister, but in his own way. Perhaps this will be a weakness that will strip him of his power. I hope things will right themselves… even if I am happy how I am now.”

“The Taken stuck around long after Oryx was killed, remember? Being Taken isn’t well-understood as it is, but being un-Taken seems unknowable altogether. You will remain how you are.”

“But I will have no King to serve-”

“Maybe we can find a way to circumvent that. To make you feel happy by serving the Vanguard and the City again.”

“Of course… but for now, we must keep an eye out for Imperius. He never liked me after the assault on the Dreadnaught, but now? He’d kill me without hesitation.”

“You’re damn right, you monster,” comes a grating voice behind them. Inarius quickly steps in front of Tyrael as they turn. Imperius stands there at the top of the short staircase heading down into the hall that held Crota’s Bane and the Crucible keepers. He treads closer, calling his sword out. The blade flicks out in a dull flash, etched with looping curves in the blunt side. The crystal set into the base pulses with eager energy, and Tyrael backs up fearfully. Inarius backs into him, still standing in front of the Taken being defensively.

“He will kill you too, Inarius,” Tyrael utters, setting one large hand onto the other’s thin shoulder. Inarius looks back to him, pretty eyes glittering in the dim light.

“So be it,” he says. There's a hiss, though, and Imperius’s footsteps are halted.

“Out of the way, Eris.” The Titan makes a brushing motion, as if pushing her aside. She stands firm, sickly green eyes too bright under the greasy wrap.

“No!” She snaps, hunching slightly. Her ‘rock’ is fixed like a compass onto the Taken, whose wings are kinked and pressed into the corner uncomfortably.

“Why not?” Imperius growls, adjusting his one-handed grip on Raze-Lighter.

“He is Tyrael. Keeper of all that is Just. He will not hesitate in bringing his wrath down upon you, Imperius. Attacking an innocent is wrong in every way to him and he will not tolerate it.” The Taken simply tipped his hood down to her, staring down at her back.

“...She is right, Imperius. I wish no further harm on Inarius, and yet you are willing to hurt him to get to me.” He called upon his blade--to Imperius’s eyes, it looked like a ragged maw carved into the fabric of reality. Eris Morn turned, glancing to the blade before turning her gaze up to meet Tyrael’s.

“You will only act in self defense… Or in defense of your kin. I remember you were awoken, like him.” She nodded subtly to Inarius, and Tyrael gently gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“You speak the truth, Crota’s Bane," he admitted grudgingly.

“I know I do,” she muttered. She turned to Imperius again. “You will gather two others and eliminate an echo of Malthael’s power. It is much like the Echoes of Oryx that you have faced before. I will keep this Taken and his awoken friend.” She stared the large titan down, and he finally put the large sword across his back. 

“Fine. But I will ensure the Vanguard is aware of what you’re doing.”

“So be it,” Eris replied, waving one hand almost dismissively. The exo glared at her from beneath his helmet, scoffing lightly as he turned away to go back up the stairs.

\------

Auriel all but leapt into his thick arms, her eyes soft and misty with unshed tears.

“Imperius! Oh, it’s such a relief to see you. I saw Inarius snatched up by Tyrael and I-”

“Easy, shh…” He held her, one hand running in soothing circles between her shoulderblades. Her face squeezed into the padding around his neck, and her arms slid up and around him. He stood there, one arms curled firmly around her middle, the other still gently sliding over her upper back. Itherael watched from not even a meter away, one hand coming up hesitantly to rest against Imperius’s shoulder.

“It is good to see you, yes. You came to us for a reason, though, didn’t you?” Imperius lifted his head, straightening carefully from his place embracing the slim warlock.

“Yes. I was told by Eris Morn that our former leader has begun to produce echoes of himself, just as Oryx did. We are to go to the Cosmodrome and eliminate this echo.” Auriel takes his hand, and he turns his attention from the Eliksni down to her delicate gloved hands. Her thumbs rub lightly at his armored knuckles, and his eyes turn a soft shade of burgundy--he’s smiling, in his own way.

“We’ll watch your back, Imperius. Don’t you worry.”

“I won’t; I trust you both with every part of me.” She smiled, a bright expression that lifted both his and Itherael’s spirits. She reached up, pulling the exo down and placing a light kiss on the plates of his forehead. His eyes flushed a cherry-blossom pink, and she giggled lightly.

“Come on, then. This Echo won’t wait around on us before it sets plans in motion. Let’s go take it out.” She pulled her Ghost out, Itherael mimicking her. Imperius lightly touched the spot where he was kissed before following them into their ships, and into low orbit.


	10. Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longest chapter yet. (maybe?)  
> ur welcome /jkjk  
> lotsa love to Miss_Gems who poked me about Inarius <3  
> This is a lot of plot packed into a small chap, so i'm not 100% satisfied with this. Oh well i guess lol hope you guys enjoy

Inarius kept his grip in the revolver he had, following Tyrael along toward Malthael. The drained Guardian had volunteered to be the unlucky person to confront the king in the first proposed peace talks.

“How much longer?” He asked, not really focused.

“Only a bit further. We’ll be arriving at his chamber shortly.” Tyrael looks back to him, just a small glance, before resuming his trek. They slip into the sideways, gold-rimmed mouth, laid open with needle-like chitin teeth reaching toward them. Malthael has his back turned to them.

“Greetings, Tyrael. You’re well?” He doesn’t turn, yet Tyrael seems to flutter his wings slightly in happiness simply at being addressed.

“Yes, of course. I have a little surprise for you as well.” Malthael gave a soft ‘oh?’ as he turned slowly, wings settling from their half-open stance. His three eyes, sharp as Mercury-silver, turn down onto Inarius, who gives a small wave. 

“You brought the drained Guardian.” Malthael says, a blunt statement. He looks to Tyrael, the almost delicate glow of his eyes shifting subtly toward the other.

“Yes. He wished to speak with you, to appeal to your power.”

“A fool’s gamble. One that he has lost.” The King chuckles lightly, waving one hand as it alights with inverse fire and the cold between stars.

Inarius does not scream.

\------

I am Inarius. I was a lonesome being, separated by my relative youth. Others mocked me, but I found a family of sorts.

It was not to be.

I was a grafted organ--Light meant to fill the gap in this group. There was the sweet taste of  _ belonging, _ but it was a distant taste.

 

Inarius, your pain is a true pain, a shaping pain. It will plague you no more--instead, let your joy drive you. There are three knives for you; each will help you achieve the true shape of joy.

The knives are shaped like

[creation]

[justice]

[I will save you].

Take these knives.

Cut away the pain, the wounds. Meet your brother and show him your gifts;

Become stronger  _ together. _

This is the true finality: meant to be. Doubt is no longer your ally.

\------

Tyrael awaited his newly-Taken friend in the gut of the Dreadnaught. The blight hisses in his ears, swallowing his thoughts and causing him to grow distracted. Inarius returns though, in a slow manner; his outline blurs reality, warping it like a lens of power, the shape filling in with the negative light all Taken share. 

Tyrael laughs, looking his kin over--Inarius is slightly shorter than him, but much stockier. The other Taken laughs as well, drawing Tyrael into an embrace. His armor is decorated, not unlike Tyrael’s own. 

“My brother,” Tyrael says, pulling away to look into the harsh white of his sibling’s eye.

“Yes, yes!” Inarius replies, enthusiastic. Tyrael laughs again, loud and wet, when one of Inarius’s long, thin swords slides smoothly through his gut.

“We shall become great together,” Inarius says, softly. 

“We  _ shall, _ ” Tyrael replies. The blade tickles along one side of his spine, cutting off sensation to his leg. He braces himself on Inarius, wrapping his large hands around his brother’s neck. “We will hide our deaths in each other--make ourselves inseparable, unendable.” Inarius smiles, baring rows of small, delicate needle-teeth as his body begins to quiet. His corpse drops, fizzling away--Tyrael groans slightly at the aching, sticking pull of the sword in his torso being pulled free. He collapses, and joins his brother in death.

They return in the cold, sickly green of what remains of Crota’s throne world.

“Did you hide your death in me?” Inarius asks, setting his clawed hand lightly on Tyrael’s shoulder.

“Yes. Did you do the same of me?”

“Of course.” They smile to each other, and step together from the silent throne world to another place.

\------

Imperius gripped Auriel’s shoulder, pulling her back into cover and against his broad chest. Itherael has hidden away, scampering off up a bronze, moving wall. The echo mutters something indecipherable, and floats past the two, seeming unaware of where they went as it circles  _ aimlessly _ around the hole the Nexus Mind died in.

“Steady, Auriel,” Imperius whispers, large hands setting on her shoulders. She looks to him, shaking subtly.

“I don’t want to know what would happen if we had to kill Mal…” She mumbles, casting a nervous peek around their cover to the echo.

“We won’t have to. We’ll find another way.” He sounds firm, but he doubts there’s a such thing as another way. He pulls her face back to him gently, leaning forward to delicately touch their helmets together. “You need to focus. Stay here with me, Auri, don’t lose sight of the song.” They pull apart, and Itherael drops behind them silently, shuffling in close. They’re bundled together, the Eliksni curling their arms protective and low around the two.

“She is distracted,” they note, and Auriel sighs a little, flexing her hands.

“I’m okay.” She looks up to them both, and they share a look. Itherael’s eyes flutter a moment, and Imperius shakes his head subtly.

“We need to be extra careful. This thing is trying to separate us, single us out--to counter it, stick together. Think together. This thing is pretty average, toughness wise, at least from what the briefing mentioned.” Itherael gave a low, gurgling sort of noise, interrupting the titan.

“If you two can keep it occupied, I can perch up there, and focus fire. We can group up here again if it calls Taken.” They pointed up to a nook amongst the uncanny grey stone, blocks intersecting each other--one had that near-ubiquitous concentric circle design painted in white that seemed to be on every Vex construction.

“Sounds like a plan. Auriel, keep your Radiance ready in case we need it. I’ll probably take out the first wave of smaller enemies, if I need to--Itherael, you handle the second.” A nod from the other Guardian, who backs off after hugging the two.

“Stay safe. I will keep one eye on both of you--the remaining two will be on that thing.” They gave a rattly little chuckle, clambering up to their nook and setting up. The echo whipped around angrily when it felt the first shots from their wire rifle, but turned again at being peppered in the back by Imperius. It hissed, moving alarmingly quick toward the titan, who pushed into the air, throwing his weight back and skidding through the air, dodging a mess of projectiles meant to knock him down. 

He swapped weapons out quickly, moving and dodging as he loaded the old machine gun he had. The belt clattered as he unsteadily fed it in, snapping the top half shut and pulling the bolt back. In-between vents, he lifted the weapon, setting it to his shoulder and aligning the sights with the blurry, smoky head of the echo. Auriel distracted it with one solid sniper shot through the neck, and it  _ screeched, _ turning toward her. He pulled the trigger, holding the weapon as steady as he could manage with cold fear lighting his gut up.

Itherael kept picking at the echo, only pausing to reload. Out of the corner of their eyes, they saw Imperius, moving steadily toward cover. Blue streaks fanned through the air, piercing the echo again and again and  _ again. _ It howled as its power drained, Auriel taking cover. In desperation, it rose its hands as if playing with a marionette, and summoned a ring of Blight. Itherael glared at the back of its head, slinging their rifle onto their back and crawling under the jut of their perch. From this position, they dropped down, scampering cover-to-cover around the circular room toward Imperius. The titan looked to them, and pulled them by one of their second arms into the cover beside him. Auriel skidded in, coming to rest on his other side.

“I’m ready to eliminate these Taken. You guys stay put. Keep your heads down.” They both nodded, and he sprinted out like a bat out of hell. He brought down a storm of fire, blazing a path through Taken and the Blight. He burns away the darkness, and pitches one last hammer up at the Echo, who yowls and claws at the fire crawling over it. Simultaneously, Auriel and Itherael lean out on either side of their blocky cover, opening fire. It screams, and suddenly crumples into ash.

“Keep your eyes open!” Imperius barks, looking around as he moves back toward his teammates. Thankfully, nothing else crawls out after them, and he vents heavily, dropping into their waiting grasps. “Never again,” he mumbles. “I’m never doing that again.”

“What?” Auriel asks, gently lifting his helmeted head.

“I won’t kill him again. It sounded like him. I… I’m too tired for this.” Itherael clucked a bit and lifted him, sliding their arms under his and around his waist, hefting him to his feet and holding him up. Using all that light up in such a dark place has drained him, but already the dampening feeling is beginning to fade. Itherael decides to change the subject and holds one hand palm-up, presenting their Ghost.

“Let’s go home,” they say, gently touching their helmet to Imperius’s.


	11. News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the Vanguard, and a new _situation._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *inhale* oh my god. i love shaxx, okay? so..... hes gunna be here more. same of the vanguard. also, imperius, i love you buddy, but you're a dumbass.

“He will not like this,” Shaxx mutters, leaning heavily over the Vanguard table. His hands are near the size of some of Ikora’s books.

“I get that,” Cayde said, sounding slightly annoyed by the giant titan looming halfway over him. “But, if we don’t tell him, then he’ll be annoyed when he finds out. Maybe worse.” Zavala looks to him, eyebrow cocked.

“That’s remarkably thoughtful, Cayde. Maybe you have more upstairs than I’d previously thought.”

“Listen, blue egg, if I had a tongue, I’d stick it out at you.” Shaxx gives a low noise, a grating sort of rumble.

“Would you two get  _ over  _ yourselves for two seconds? This is important, and I have half a mind to knock your skulls together.” Ikora chuckles quietly behind her hand at the incredulous look Zavala gives the Crucible handler. “You don’t get any special treatment from me, Zavala. Now, let’s suck up and tell him. Cayde has a point, and I personally don’t want to watch one of the best titans I know have a fit when he finds out. Could induce a want to rebel.”

“He has a point,” Rey says, voice betraying her lingering half-amusement. Shaxx gives another deep rumble, and straightens.

“Damn right I do.” He seems annoyed, and turns to leave the open room and head back to his post. The three Vanguards watch him plod out, before looking between each other.

“Who wants to tell Imperius, then?” Cayde asks, eying the other two without moving his head. It’s a gunslinger’s gaze. Ikora looks to Zavala, saying nothing a moment.

“We could ask someone outside of the Vanguard.”

“If you’re suggesting we ask Shaxx, then I want no part of the question,” Zavala replies evenly.

“Fair enough,” she says, shrugging lightly. “I’ll ask him. As for Itherael and Auriel… I suppose Imperius will pass the news onto them and handle things appropriately.”

“Guess we can only hope,” Cayde comments, shrugging and relaxing back down to look at some new intel from one of his scouts.

\------

Imperius steps into the room he was directed to, looking around a little uncomfortably. He’d been told there was important news, but he wasn’t so sure he really wanted to hear it. Things weren’t going well--his fireteam appeared to be at the center fold of the problems, however. Three Guardians lost in the span of just over a year; he could hardly wrap his head around it. Even worse was the sinking sense of regret he felt whenever he so much looked at a Taken entity.

“Afternoon, Guardian.” Imperius tensed slightly, looking over as Shaxx stepped closer.

“Afternoon.” He set his helmet down, red eyes shuttering with a light click. That uneasy sinking was coming back full force, and he felt a wave of sudden want to run and not look back.

“I have some news for you.”

“I was told that, yes.”  He clenches a fist at his hip, eyes going whitish with anxiety. Shaxx says nothing, for a moment, before slowly stepping closer.

“Inarius was Taken. The mission was a failure. We’re down to one option regarding Malthael.”

"Failure?" Imperius said, softly. The white drains into drab blue, and the exo slumps slightly. "I... I was hoping..."   
"I know," the other titan soothes. "We all did, I think."   
"Tyrael... by the Traveller." Imperius sounds exhausted, and sinks to his knees slowly. "I don't know what to do, Shaxx. I don't know." The Crucible handler is silent for a moment, but pulls him back to his feet.   
"You should go and tell the others," is all he says. Really, it's the only thing he can think to say. "Best not to hold this from them." Imperius nods numbly, picking his helmet up. His eyes are nearly black, they're such a deep blue.   
"I'm sorry," he mutters, one hand jumping up to stiffly rub his plated face. "I'll get going, then." With that, he turns and walks out, Shaxx watching him with a sympathetic head-tilt. If there was anything the grizzled old titan sympathized with, it was watching your fireteam shrink under the crushing weight of the Darkness.   
\------   
Auriel sat up off of Itherael's lap when Imperius stepped in, holding his helmet loosely at his thigh. The first things she noted were the weary slopes of his broad shoulders, and the way he moved almost mechanically--at least, more so than usual.

“Imperius?” She starts, to her feet and at his side immediately. He can’t seem to look at her directly--he squints, shutters his eyes a few times--but never looks right at her. His eyes are not the familiar red; instead, a blue deeper than ocean water.

“Auriel, it… the talks…” He stumbled over some exo noises, hands quivering slightly as he lifted them jerkily, then dropped them again. Itherael went to them, seeming like a wary animal; their eyes were wide, quills smoothed back slightly, posture low.

“They failed, didn’t they?” They asked. Imperius gave a hiccup of static and nodded, watching the two of them seem to freeze into stone. The way Auriel  _ screams _ in pain makes his sadness vanish, and he grips her maybe a little too tightly. Itherael joins him, one tough hand settled at the nape of his neck. He pulls away, gently urging the warlock into the Eliksni’s arms. He curls his fingers into painful fists, watching Itherael carefully maneuver Auriel back onto the couch. He feels heat in his knuckles, ash in the gaps--he lifts his hands to his face and finds the sure signs of solar light in the dusty outline of his palm.

He damn near called his abilities right then and there.

“I’ll be back,” he says, turning to go out the door before either of the others can protest.

\------

The Dreadnaught was much quieter than he really remembered it being. He frowned inwardly--all the Taken were off ruining the other planets, and the Cabal were all dead. He transmatted down, wasting no time as he scoured the place of Hive and whatever else he stumbled across. Malthael’s chamber was where he remembered Oryx’s being, if a little off--it didn’t matter, either way. That  _ thing _ was going to pay, and pay  _ dearly _ for bringing such agony to sweet Auriel. He didn’t bother reining in his anger, instead stoking the forges, nearly alighting the whole of him with fire.

He kicks through a door, fire in one fist and a gun in the other. He doesn’t care what kind, so long as it  _ hurts. _

“MALTHAEL!” He roars, nearly removing the head off a Taken acolyte. He cooks the others, hate funneling into more solar light. The king appears, languid and smooth; he simply chuckles down at the lone titan, who stares up at him with nothing but pure rage.

“You are an idiot, Imperius. Too hotheaded for your own good--you always were, but now? I don’t even have to hurt you. You will hurt yourself in your blind anger.” He tilts his head up, staring down his flat snout at him. Imperius just laughs, breathless and  _ eager. _ His gun’s discarded, and he wraps his hand around the first Hammer of Sol.


	12. Retreat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, so, i'm gunna take a hiatus with this fic. not sure how long it'll be, but i want to bring you more quality chapters.  
> this one is mostly wraping up a few things, and setting up for the next one.

“He’s gone and done  _ what? _ ” Zavala barks, eyes shot wide.

“He’s attacking Malthael as we speak,” Shaxx replies, for once, without snark to his fellow titan.

“Wait, he can’t do anything, right?” Cayde butts in, pushing past the others to see the blurry, awkward live Ghost recording. The film is stuttery at best, and terribly grainy, but yes, he can see quite obviously that Imperius is toe-to-toe with the current Taken King in combat.

“I’d think he wouldn’t be able to do all that much. Best case scenario, Malthael retreats to his throne world as Oryx did. Worst case, and Imperius doesn’t come home,” Ikora says, tapping her chin slightly in thought. “Either way, this will change things. If in our favor, we will be able to focus efforts in other endeavors--possibly dealing with the Devil Splicers. Otherwise… We will be fighting on two fronts.” Zavala makes a disapproving noise from his place behind her. 

“Then let us wish him the best.”

\------

Imperius huffs, dropping his head back to a column of what looks like rotting bone. He muses that Auriel would scold him if he called it that--“It’s not bone,” she would say, “it’s  _ chitin. _ ” He chuckled inwardly, and slid very carefully around the pillar he rested against. Malthael was muttering something under his breath, clouds of spores, or dust, or  _ rot _ fogging out of his disgusting mouth. 

He folded his arms across himself like a corpse, and Imperius leaned out slightly, propping an old sniper rifle on his knee. He braced it to his shoulder and lined up with the King’s head, taking a shot. Malthael staggered, midair, and turned circles to try and find the source of the shot. The titan didn’t pause, didn’t  _ hesitate, _ and took another shot. And another. And  _ another. _ The monster was screeching now, this awful high note that made Imperius’s ears ring. He brushed it off; tinnitus was a fair price for easing the Taken hold over the solar system. He shuffled back, wincing at the almost splashing sounds of energy projectiles impacting his bit of cover. There was a hiss that surrounded him, and even through his armor, he felt the slimy, heavy feeling of Blight weighing down the air.

A captain chattered gibberish in Eliksni, and swiped at him, pitching a looping, twisting whorl of raw darkness at the Guardian. He was to his feet and in the air in what felt like no time at all, and the blob dissipated harmlessly against the pillar. Malthael had line of sight now, however, and lunged after him. In response, Imperius grabbed his jaw, gripping it and shoving a Hammer of Sol into the parted jaws, cracking off a few jagged, shattered-glass teeth. Malthael howled and Imperius moved away, eliminating the other Taken with as much energy as he could muster.

This was getting exhausting, but this little war of attrition was going in his favor. Malthael slumped, digging his wickedly honed talons into a fleshy wall, struggling to stay upright. 

It was back down to the two of them, and Imperius still had a rocket left and a few primary shots. He decided to reserve the rocket, and lined up with his old auto rifle, putting nearly three whole magazines into his ex-teammate’s skull. There was the briefest moment of horror, when his mind caught up to what his body was doing, but by then, Malthael had already released his dying burble, collapsing onto his knees weakly. Imperius took three long, loping strides over, but staggered back--nearly windmilling his arms--when a rip in the fabric of reality peeled open. Malthael just laughed, a low sort of rasping laugh, and slid backward, warping through the gaping hole into some other place.

\------

“Taken are pulling back-”

“The Taken here are retreating-’

“Taken numbers dropping-”

“-Blights are fading-” Ikora raised an eyebrow at the sudden influx of reports, a good majority bearing the patchy, not-quite-clear audio of live Ghost feeds.

“So he pulled it off. Damn,” Cayde says, sounding terribly amused. Zavala gives him this sort of disgusted look, but the hunter doesn’t seem to notice. Shaxx lumbers over, head tilted slightly.

“Who pulled what off?”

“Imperius pushed Malthael back,” she responds, turning to him. He gives a slight grunt that sounds--pleased, almost, or maybe satisfied.

“I had a feeling he would succeed.” The warlock simply nods, and picks up a notebook before circling around him, moving through the hall toward Eris Morn’s nook. Shaxx lingers, gaze held steadily on Commander Zavala before he turns, ignoring a questioning noise from Cayde. “Arcite, reserve a requisition order for Imperius.” He settles back into his spot as the frame taps the order into his computer, giving a nod.


End file.
